


Crossing the Line

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2018 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Autistic Character, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2018, minor to moderate depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 05:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14049756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Everyone knows where the line in the forest is.Everyone knows not to cross the line.But honestly, what does Edward have left?





	Crossing the Line

**Author's Note:**

> My day 3 fic is a bit late, but it's here! Also, I think there was more hurt/comfort in my first two fics tbh. Oh well.  
> Kind of inspired by Howard Pyle's 'Wonder Clock'  
> Also, Edward is a yellow name, but I have no doubt it's a green name to him, so for the purposes of this story, I'm pretending that Edward is green.

“There is a line,” they said.

 

They all said it.

 

“You’ll know where it is when you see it,” they said.

 

“There are no royal blue flowers this side of the line,” they said.

 

_Royal blue_.

 

They meant purple, of course, but they didn’t know about purple yet.

 

Edward knew. He knew about lots of things that the others didn’t. He knew that the trees spoke to each other when they thought no one was listening, and he knew that people with red names were not to be trusted. He knew this because red infected green, and he was green.

 

His mother was red. He knew she didn’t like the apprehension he always felt around her, but it wasn’t the only thing she disliked about him. Better to take no chances, he decided.

 

He was surprised that his father wasn’t red. He was the worse of the two, after all. But he was yellow, nonetheless. Edward was waiting for that to become significant, but as of yet, it had not.

 

Perhaps it had to do with the line?

 

Yellow infects purple, after all, and the line was _purple_ not _royal blue_.

 

He had seen it, many times, when he was sent to collect food for dinner.

 

“It’s because you’re small,” they said, “less likely to be caught.”

 

That wasn’t true. At least, he didn’t think it was. He was pretty sure what they meant was: _we wouldn’t mind if_ you _got caught foraging illegally in the forest_.

 

But he liked the forest, so he never protested. He felt safer there than he ever had at the cottage, or in the village. The village was always crowded. Noisy. People screaming in the market, gossiping at the well, craftsman striking wood or metal or stone or hide, noise and noise and noise for days, ringing in his ears until he didn’t know where his body was anymore. Sometimes it could be interesting, if he was feeling particularly grounded, since there was so much to see and learn and explore. But most days at the village ended in a trance and his parents loudly discussing if they had even money to spare on a _third_ exorcist.

 

The cottage, of course, contained his parents, so it was no wonder he didn’t feel at home there.

 

By contrast, the forest was quiet, yet talkative. It listened to his ramblings, and in return he listed to it. His favorite companions were the large ash tree not four paces from the Line, and the brook just across it. They argued, frequently, but not in the way his mother and father did. No, this was the banter of old friends, laughing over old disagreements.

 

_I can see farther than you_ , the tree would say, _from way up here._

_But I have traveled further than you can even imagine,_ the brook responded with laughter, _and thus_ I _have seen more._

Edward enjoyed their company, and he liked to imagine they enjoyed his. He would often sit by the tree, leaning against it as he ate berries and nuts and mushrooms he had gathered, knowing that no matter he brought home, there would never be enough left for him to have more than a handful.

 

Sometimes he considered doing the unimaginable and dipping his toes in the brook to say ‘hello’. Crossing the Line.

 

But he never did.

 

Never, that is, until today.

 

But you already knew that, didn’t you? After all, it is how all good faerie tales begin…

 

On this particular afternoon, Edward was curled up at the base of the ash, arms wrapped around his legs as he lay there, silently crying.

 

_What’s wrong?_ He thought he heard the ash whisper to him.

 

“They,” he hiccupped through his tears, “They found out about the books.”

 

A gentle _shh_ surrounded him in the rustle of the leaves, and it felt like a warm embrace to him.

 

“They didn’t know I could read. They can’t. They were _furious_.”

 

_They are mortal, child_ , the brook reminded him.

 

“I know,” he sobbed, “But that’s not the worst of it.”

 

_What is?_ A small bird he’d never seen before asked him. He could have sworn this one was out loud.

 

“They calmed down when they thought up a plan. The princess is just now sixteen, and the King and Queen are holding a tournament for nobles to win her hand. They want me to pretend to be a noble and enter the competition.”

 

_Oh?_ It said, _Would it be so very horrible to be a king?_

 

“I – If I get caught, they’d have me executed,” he said softly, “Besides, I don’t even know the princess. I know it’s foolish, but I’ve always wanted to marry for love.”

 

_That’s very foolish,_ the bird told him, _but I sympathize, nonetheless._

“I just don’t know what to do,” he sighed, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

The bird tilted its head at him as if in thought before it said, _I have an idea._

 

“Oh?”

 

_Follow me._

 

He stood, following the little thing for three steps before he froze, “I can’t.”

 

_Why not?_

 

“The – the line. I can’t cross it.”

 

_Why not?_ It repeated.

 

“There are – there are _things_ on that side. Things that want human blood. Or souls. It’s dangerous.”

 

_What do you have to lose?_ The bird asked.

 

Edward paused. The small creature had a point.

 

With a deep breath, he mustered all of his courage and took the final step across the line of purple flowers.

 

And then immediately took another as he gasped loudly at the sight around him.

 

Gone was the dusty green canopy of the trees, the grey-brown dirt, and the few small sparrows.

 

In its place was another forest, so vibrant Edward could hardly comprehend the sheer scale of colors. Trees seemingly taller than the skies twisted upwards in glowing spirals, flowers cascading down their sides. Iridescent rocks formed winding paths from one to another, a bridge across the brook that had grown into a massive river of silver water.

 

“What is this place,” he breathed, eyes catching on the tiny, flickering lights that darted from tree to tree.

 

“Welcome to the realm of the Fae,” his companion replied, voice much more solid than it had been before. He glanced down to find, not a bird, but a man, easily two heads shorter than himself and extremely pale, but otherwise indistinguishable from a human.

 

“Is – is that what you really look like?” he asked the first question that made it from his mind to his mouth.

 

The man looked at him, then down at himself, then laughed, “Good gracious, no! My true form would be utterly horrifying for you to look upon, and I have not yet decided if I wish to destroy you.”

 

“Oh,” was all Edward could think to say.

 

“Martin is very much in favor of our keeping you, rather than killing you, although it is quite unorthodox for the King of the Fae to bring a human into his realm for any purpose other than sport or feasting.”

 

“Martin?”

 

“I’ll show you,” the man – the _king_ – answered, leading Edward to the bridge across the river. When they stopped in the middle of it, he leaned over and called, “Martin! We have a visitor!”

 

A head poked out of the flowing silver, nearly the same color, with swirling blues and greens where eyes might plausibly be.

 

_Oswald! You could have told me who it was_ , Edward recognized the tone of the brook, but had no time to contemplate it further as the entire river vanished in a matter of seconds, all consumed by the increasingly humanoid figure before him. Soon enough, a completely innocuous boy stood before him, peering up at him with great curiosity.

 

“Hello,” Edward tried.

 

The boy smiled and held out his hand, making no sound. Edward shook it hesitantly, glancing at Oswald.

 

“He doesn’t speak in this form,” Oswald confirmed.

 

Edward glanced back at the boy and smiled, “What has a mouth but can’t talk?”

 

Martin grinned back, fingers dancing through the air, leaving a word of silver behind.

 

_River_

 

“Exactly!”

 

“I am beginning to see why you two have gotten along so well, despite being so different.”

 

Edward turned back to Oswald, eyebrow raised, “What do you mean by that?”

 

“My son has never had a friend – besides myself – before. I was understandably curious when he came to me a few days ago, gushing about the new one he just made.”

 

“He – wait, a few days ago?” Edward asked, “But I’ve been coming to that spot for my whole life!”

 

“Time is quite fluid within the borders of my kingdom. Young and old intertwine in the spirits of the Fae. Surely you know the stories?”

 

“Ancient beings who delight in tricking the incompetent?”

 

“More or less,” Oswald replied, “It is enough to make most humans think poorly of us. If they weren’t so stupid, perhaps they could have survived!”

 

“That is a philosophy I can easily understand,” Edward agreed, “There is much that I do not know, but at least I make the effort!”

 

“You said something about books?”

 

“Ah, yes. It is forbidden for someone of my station to learn to read, yet I did so regardless. My parents beat me for it, but only until they came up with a way to exploit it,” he said bitterly.

 

“You were beaten for trying to expand your knowledge?”

 

“Among other things,” Edward shrugged, “I believe it started when their priest told them I was a changeling.”

 

Oswald coughed and spluttered, choking on his laugher as he nearly doubled over. Even Martin seemed overcome with a fit of giggles.

 

“What?”

 

“ _You?_ A Faerie?” Oswald wiped the tears from his eyes as his laughter subsided, “Rest assured, friend, you are not.”

 

They continued walking, Edward pointing out anything new and exciting along the way, and Oswald and Martin fighting about who could explain it better. He was… only mostly in shock at the turn the day had taken.

 

Then the trees parted to reveal the largest structure he’d seen yet: a glistening palace carved of delicate ice, imposing to even the toughest of men.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s home,” Oswald replied lightly, “My fortress.”

 

“A fortress?” Edward frowned, “Isn’t it susceptible to fire?”

 

“Absolutely not,” his companion snorted, “This isn’t _regular_ ice, my friend. Any flame touches this ice and it will be frozen instantly. It can sense intentions, too, and will freeze anyone who comes seeking to harm me or mine.”

 

“So I should watch my step?” Edward asked.

 

“Are you attempting a coup?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Oswald assured, nodding to the ice gargoyles as they animated to step aside for him. Martin saw Edward’s nervousness and grabbed his arm, tugging him up onto the walkway. The ice was smooth as it curved upward, but Edward felt them sliding _up_ , towards the main building. So the Fae controlled gravity, now, too? Fascinating.

 

“Welcome to my home,” Oswald stated dramatically once they reached the top, throwing the doors open wide and gesturing for Edward to enter. The inside was just as beautiful as the rest of the kingdom, if a bit… empty.

 

“How many people live here?” he asked.

 

“Not many,” Oswald shrugged, “Just enough staff to get by, and they mostly keep to themselves. Come, it is almost time for supper.”

 

Edward was led to a dining hall, one enormous table of stone in the center, chairs of living wood lined along it. Oswald settled in the grand throne at one end, indicating for Edward to take the seat to his left. Martin sat across from him and tapped the table imperiously.

 

At once, the ceramic bowls filled with the most gorgeous, tempting food Edward had ever seen in his life.

 

Martin grabbed a roll and began to butter it, as a door somewhere behind Oswald opened and a dryad with hair of autumn leaves strolled in. Her eyes landed on Edward and she grinned, teeth far to sharp to be safe.

 

“ _Pengy!_ Have you brought us a treat?” she asked, eyeing the newcomer. Edward felt himself trembling in his seat and willed himself to be still.

 

“Patience, Ivy,” Oswald waved dismissively, “We haven’t decided about this one.”

 

“What, you’re actually going to be kind?” she scoffed, “That hasn’t happened since Gala– “

 

“Ivy! Enough!”

 

Martin was angrily stabbing his roll with the butter knife as Ivy sank into the seat beside him with a huff.

 

“Fine! I’m just saying it like it is.”

 

“I’m sorry about that, Edward,” Oswald turned to him, “She can get overexcited when she thinks she’s going to get human meat. It’s her favorite.”

 

“Um,” Edward said.

 

“Don’t worry,” he laid a hand over Edward’s, and Edward felt a _warmth_ shooting through his body in the strangest way, “She can’t harm you if I don’t want her to.”

 

“Th – Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome. Now, what would you like to eat?” Oswald gestured to the impressive array.

 

“I – I thought that if I ate in the Fae realm, I would be trapped here forever?”

 

Oswald rolled his eyes, “Bullshit. We started that rumor to get humans to stop trying to steal our food, since it’s obviously superior. We had _four_ human-induced famines before that one caught on!”

 

“Really?” he asked, leaning forward out of curiosity.

 

“Yes. You lot used to live much closer to us, back when I was a child.”

 

“How long ago was that?”

 

“I don’t remember. But you should eat. I promise you that you will be at liberty to leave this realm at any time, whether you eat or not.”

 

Edward nodded, picking up a particularly sweet looking pastry and taking a bite.

 

_Oh._

_Oh that was delicious_.

 

“It’s marvelous,” he told his host, “Truly.”

 

“I already know, but thank you for the compliment nonetheless,” Oswald smiled at him, “You know, I rather like you. You’re sweet.”

 

Edward flushed at the remark, trying and failing to stutter out a response before he gave up and took another bite of pastry to distract himself.

 

Just as he thought he had recovered from the incident, Oswald leaned towards him, getting close to his face before saying calmly, “You’re cute, too.”

 

His face returned to the bright color, and Oswald smiled, “Especially like that.”

 

When they had finished their meal – the finest food Edward had ever eaten, and the most he’d ever had in one sitting as well – Oswald took his hand and led him to a private room. Martin had excused himself to go do whatever rivers did, and Ivy clearly still wanted a taste of his flesh, so Edward couldn’t say he minded.

 

“So, have you decided against killing me?” he got up the courage to ask. Oswald smiled, “I have indeed.”

 

“Then what _do_ you want with me?”

 

He saw the king sigh, sinking into a plush chair lined with gold, “That is a very difficult question, my dear Ed. I’m not sure you would be interested in the answer.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Oswald was quiet a moment before he stood up again, moving to a desk on the other side of the room. It was empty save for a potted plant, filled with the vibrant purple flowers that marked the Line.

 

He brushed his fingers over the petals of one before saying, “I will grant you one wish, Edward. You need not choose it now,” he carefully severed one of the flowers from the plant and reached up to tuck it behind Edward’s ear, “When you are ready, return here. Simply cross the line. I promise you will be safe.”

 

“What do you want in return?” Edward asked, feeling oddly happy at the gentle touch of Oswald’s fingers as he rearranged his hair around the flower, “Isn’t it usually a deal?”

 

“What I want is nothing too great,” Oswald informed him, “Just a kiss.”

 

Edward froze, feeling his cheeks heat once more at the idea as he said, “You do know you don’t need a deal for that, right?”

 

Oswald’s fingers dropped to cup his jaw, stroking over his cheek, a sad smile in his eyes, “It could never be, my darling Ed. You are not Fae. My people would never accept you. Besides, you would die too quickly for me to bear.”

 

“Alright,” Edward agreed with sorrow, leaning down to brush his lips over Oswald’s, feeling the Faerie grip his hair and pull him close. Oh, how he wished it could last. His eyelids had fluttered shut by the time he felt Oswald pull away from him, and he opened them again.

 

The king was nowhere to be found. He was at the edge of the forest, not in a palace of ice.

 

He was looking at the cottage.

 

_No._

 

Had it even been real? Had it all been a dream?

 

In distress, he trudged back to the cottage, dreading the moment his parents caught sight of him.

 

“Boy!” his father shouted from the doorway, and he flinched.

 

“Where have you – “ his voice fell silent.

 

Edward looked up, confused and wary.

 

“What is that.”

 

“What is what?” he looked around, unsure what he had done wrong this time.

 

“On. Your. Ear.”

 

Edward reached up, unsure, and felt petals brush his fingers.

 

_Oh._

_It hadn’t been a dream after all._

“YOU FUCKING FAERIE BASTARD,” his father screamed, reaching for the iron poker by the fire pit, “I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WEREN’T MY REAL SON!”

 

Edward took a step back, eyes on the heated metal.

 

“Scared of a little iron, Trickster?” he snarled, advancing, brining the bar down swiftly across his arm.

 

Edward screamed, collapsing on the ground, legs protecting his insides while his arms protected his head, an all to familiar pose for him.

 

“Does that burn you, you little freak?” his father spat, striking him once more with the iron.

 

“Of course it burns!” Edward hissed back, a defiance he hadn’t known he had emerging for the first time in his life, “It’s on-fucking-fire!”

 

It was objectively the wrong move.

 

His father let out a noise of pure rage and began beating him with a ferocity he’d never known. It was all he could do to keep himself as best protected as he could, screams soon subsiding as he tried to force himself to go limp. Perhaps if his father thought he was dead, he would leave him be.

 

After a time, it worked. Or perhaps his father had simply grown bored with hitting an unmoving lump.

 

His father returned from the other side of the cottage, and he knew that the first assumption was correct as he felt his body being wrapped in a coarse blanket. It was an odd feeling, being carried in a sack, especially when one was already weak from pain and blood loss.

 

Soon enough he was being dumped unceremoniously from the sack, left to rot somewhere in the woods. His father’s footsteps retreated, and he let himself breathe more freely.

 

Wait.

 

The woods!

 

If he could return to Oswald’s land, Oswald would be able to save him. He had a favor, after all!

 

With what little strength he had, Edward dragged himself along the ground in what he thought was the right direction. It was slow going, and soon enough evening light began to filter through the trees, signaling an oncoming nightfall.

 

Stopping in the shelter of a large oak, Edward plucked a few berries from a nearby bush, hoping the sustenance would last him until he reached Oswald.

 

He didn’t notice the horses until it was too late.

 

By the time he was being slung onto the back of one to be taken back to the king’s prison for thievery, he was already halfway into unconsciousness.

 

~                                                                   ~                                                                                                                                  ~

 

He came to at the sound of voices, wondering why his back hurt so much, and why his bed was so cold. Then his surroundings registered, and he realized he was not at the cottage, but rather lying on the cold stone of a cell.

 

“We found him stealing berries in the forest, sir,” a knight was saying.

 

“Is that really a capital offense?” said another man, this one wearing too much yellow.

 

“That’s not all,” the knight replied, “He had this on his ear.”

 

Edward started as he saw the knight produce his flower. How dare they have taken it from him! That was _his_. That was Oswald’s gift to him. They had no right –

 

The king clearly recognized the thing, recoiling in fear, “Then he must be killed at once! We cannot risk them thinking it’s safe to enter our lands again.”

 

“Their,” Edward spoke up from his position on the floor.

 

The king turned to him, shock painted across his face at the gall of their prisoner, “Excuse me?”

 

“The correct form is, ‘We cannot risk _their_ thinking it’s safe,’” he replied, “Basic grammar.”

 

“Strike him,” the king commanded, obviously not one for constructive criticism.

 

The knight gestured for one of the guards to enter his cell, and Edward braced himself for the blow, but it still hurt.

 

“What about this, your majesty?” the knight asked, holding up the flower.

 

The king looked at it and shuddered before ordering, “Destroy it.”

 

“No - !” Edward leapt forward, trying to prevent the inevitable, only to be struck down again by the guard. He felt a bone shatter and cried out in pain again. The knight glanced at him with disdain before dropping the flower on the flagstone and crushing it beneath his boot.

 

“No,” Edward whispered, despair finally setting in. He was too far to find Oswald now. They would kill him long before he could reach the land of the Fae. If only –

 

A blinding flash of violet light filled the room, and Edward shielded his gaze as the others cried out in agony. When the light died down, he was the first to look up the horrifying visage before them. A writhing mass of black and purple wings and claws and smoke had crushed half the room with its entrance. Edward gaped at it, fascination flowing through him. What _was_ it?

 

He walked closer to the bars of his cell, ignoring the cowering guard behind him.

 

The creature turned to him and he gasped. He recognized the green in those eyes, swirling the same way Martin’s had when he had still been in his river-form.

 

“ _Oswald?_ ” he asked, incredulously.

 

“Ed!” the mass turned to him, eyes wide, if they could be, “What happened to you?”

 

Before he could respond, his injuries reminded him of their presence and he collapsed. The shattered bone must have broken skin, he was losing so much blood, he was –

 

The last thing he saw as his eyes slipped shut was Oswald, in his true form, reigning death upon his captors.

 

And then it all went dark.

 

~                                                                   ~                                                                                                                                  ~

 

When he came to the next time, it was to a bed made of actual cloud.

 

He groaned, feeling a sore ache where his numerous wounds had been.

 

Was he dead? Surely he hadn’t made it into heaven?

 

“Ed!” Oswald appeared in his field of vision, strong fingers wrapping around his own limp ones.

 

“Os – Oswald?” he croaked.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d live,” Oswald breathed, trying his hardest not to crush his hand in his grasp.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I felt the flower die,” he said, “They are immortal, but not invincible. I didn’t know what had happened, but I needed to know. When I saw what they had done to you, I killed them all.”

 

“Good,” Edward smiled, nestling back into the bed.

 

“You,” Oswald paused, “You weren’t afraid of me.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Edward agreed.

 

“I love you.”

 

Edward gasped, coughing when it pulled at the sore muscles in his chest, “You do?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then let me stay.”

 

“I already told you why that can’t happen, darling,” Oswald said, combing through his hair in a gesture that Edward found extremely pleasing, “You know that.”

 

“I have an idea,” Edward mirrored the words Oswald had said to him so long ago.

 

“Oh?”

 

“You promised me a wish. What are the limitations on that wish?”

 

“None, although there are limitations on how it might be carried out. For example, raising a body from the dead is not the same as raising the soul.”

 

“Then,” Edward shut his eyes once, only opening them when he was ready to meet Oswald’s eye and give him his request, “I wish to be made a Fae.”

 

Oswald’s jaw dropped, “Ed? Are you sure about this? You’ll never be able to go back!”

 

“Back to what,” Edward scoffed, “The only family I had are the ones that did this to me, my king has ordered me executed, I am essentially a dead fugitive.”

 

“But – “

 

“Not to mention,” he added, using what little strength he had to squeeze Oswald’s hand back, “I love you too.”

 

“Oh, _Ed_ ,” Oswald sighed, leaning down to press their lips together, “I will do what I can. But you will not be the same.”

 

“I expected as much.”

 

Edward closed his eyes, feeling a tingling through his body as Oswald pulled back. It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable. Like he needed to stretch but couldn’t move.

 

When the feeling subsided, he opened his eyes.

 

“What color are they?” he asked. Oswald smiled, “Purple.”

 

“Perfect,” he said, stretching himself out fully, examining his changed body. His skin had turned rough, like bark – tough enough to endure any beating, he supposed. He felt thick, leathery wings protruding from his back, and fangs brushing against his lips.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Oswald said.

 

“I’m green,” Edward added, smiling.

 

“That’s a good thing I take it?”

 

“Of course. I’ve always been green, but now everyone else can see it, too. And you’re purple. We match.”

 

Oswald smiled at him, pulling him from the bed, “You’re stronger in this form my love.”

 

Edward leaned in to kiss him again, and Oswald returned it gladly, shifting into his own true self.

 

“As soon as you feel ready, you will be officially made mine. How would you like to rule by my side?”

 

“I would like that very much,” Edward told him, pressing his back against the room’s wall, trying to get Oswald to pin him there. Oswald caught on quickly and complied, “There is just one thing.”

 

“Oh?” Edward asked, losing his certainty.

 

“You said your king wanted to execute you.”

 

“Yes. Even more so, now, I’m sure.”

 

“No,” Oswald hissed, pressing even tighter against Edward, catching his wrists and slamming them into the everlasting ice above his head.

 

“No?”

 

“I am the only person you will _ever_ refer to as ‘my king’ again. Understood?” he licked a harsh line down Edward’s neck, teeth sinking ever so shallowly into his toughened flesh. Edward shivered at the sensation and nodded, replying with a cheeky, “Of course, my king.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Actually,” Edward said, deciding to try his hand at flirting, “There is just one thing.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“You see, you kissed me again just now, so by your standards, you owe me another wish.”

 

“Is that so?” Oswald growled, “Then what do you want?”

 

Edward tilted his head back, a sign of his pliancy and trust, “To be yours.”

 

“Deal,” the Faerie king’s eyes gleamed, “Perhaps the best deal I’ve made in centuries.”

**Author's Note:**

> Update: The lovely Riverance made some absolutely gorgeous art for this fic, at
> 
> http://riverance.tumblr.com/post/172760671563/illustrations-for-amazing-fairytale-crossing-the
> 
> which you guys should totally check out!


End file.
